This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MouseCurtains on 2024-06-18 23:06:18+00:00.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Hi, reddit. It’s been 4 years.

There’s a lot of explaining I need to do. I’m sure you’re all wondering where I’ve been, what’s been happening, etc. I apologise for not updating you all, but I simply couldn’t.

I was actually ready to leave my job. Something horrible happened, which I’ll explain in a moment, and I just decided to stop playing detective and go find a job as a barista instead. Leave and have a fresh start, and forget I’d ever written about this stuff to begin with. Completely erase it from my memory - act like it never happened. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t allowed to.

It was only a few weeks after my last post when I saw one of them again. A young man, around my age. I didn’t realise he was one of them at first. He walked in normally, well, as normally as someone with a gushing head wound would have. He was clutching a motorcycle glove to his head as blood blinded his left eye, and he held his helmet in his free arm. I quickly rushed over to him, ushering for one of the other nurses to grab a wheelchair. He spoke fine, albeit a shaken quality to his voice, and told me how his motorcycle had hit a bump in the road, and he’d fallen and hit his head. I asked him his name, and he’d said it was Adam. I know I previously didn’t give away patient information, but I don’t think I can really class him as a ‘patient.’

He’d asked for some water, and I obliged, filling up a paper cup as he sat down in the wheelchair, the other nurse walking off to grab some paperwork. I handed him his cup, and as I reached into my pocket to grab my pager, he grabbed my chest.

I’m a man, so there wasn’t even anything to grab, but somehow he’d sunk his nails into my left pec just enough to pull me forward. I opened my mouth to yell out in pain, but he shoved his glove into my mouth, and forced me to look into his eyes. They were no longer blue, but entirely black; pupils dilated to an uncanny degree. And in a rasping, pluralised voice, he said, “Don’t go looking for things you don’t want to know the answer to.”

I just stared at him, aghast. His voice had turned to a myriad of many, all fighting to be heard the most; be the loudest. There was a malicious frown on his face, but the way his brows were furrowed, it appeared more like a stern warning, than anything truly wishing to harm me any more than they had done already. Like he’d tried to mimic a disappointed parent, but didn’t quite know how to put his features right. Rage and concern and confusion and disdain merging into one uncanny myriad of a emotions, and so I continued to stare, until the gravity of the situation took hold.

I yelled out for help. Luckily, it was an extremely slow night, so he, the other nurse, and I were the only ones in the lobby. He pulled his nails out from my chest, and stood up, looming over me. He was suddenly a lot taller than I had registered as he walked in prior, and he walked out towards the sliding front doors. He stopped, turned back to look at me and the other nurse who was fretting over the puncture wounds that were leaking out onto my scrubs, and suddenly launched his helmet at almost superhuman speed at the lobby’s check in desk, smashing the glass and slamming the computer with it on the floor. The other nurse screamed in fear, and all I could do was watch, in horror, as he stared me in the eyes, walking off into the night.

That was enough for me to decide to hand in my resignation letter the next day. I had seen, first hand, the sheer power those things had. If he had decided to launch my head into the glass instead of his helmet, I would’ve been reduced to mush. There was no amount of curiosity that needed to be scratched that could come above my desire to live a decent life. So, I had decided my super cool, super interesting monster hunting adventure (/s) was over.

But I wasn’t allowed to leave. When I handed my resignation letter in the next day to the head doctor, he led me into his office. He’d told me that he needed to make some calls, to discuss the termination process, and I obliged. Then, he locked me in his office.

I began to freak out, trying to use my pager to get (A), or (B) to respond and get me. No one came. Then, a group of people dressed in hospital gear, suits, and smart clothing returned. I couldn’t recognise anyone, not even those dressed in scrubs. They all looked at me, stoic and unmoving, until a short, plump woman came forwards, smiling perkily.

She was older than me, but not too old. Around 50, if my memory serves correct. She had tightly curled, blonde hair, and had she not been smiling, I’d imagine that heavy, purpled bags under her eyes would be present, despite the heavy makeup she wore. She took a seat in front of me, ever smiling, and placed both elbows on the desk, her hands interlinked under her chin.

“Hey, u/MouseCurtains, is it?” (Sorry if it seems disjointed, I don’t want to give away my personal data, especially not now.) “My name is (X). You seem rather unnerved, I assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

I don’t think I replied. I seem to just remember looking at everyone but her, and how they all stared, unmoving, back at me.

“I hear that you’re asking to resign.” She smiled, trying her best to come across as warm hearted, but the thumping silence in the room made it futile. She sighed, before waving her hand behind her, and the others in the room left, albeit hesitantly. I could still see them peering through the glass even after they’d departed. “I’m afraid you can’t.”

I asked what she meant. Surely, no one can be forced to keep a job. I was wrong. She pulled a leather briefcase up onto the table from beside her, clicking it open gently, as if any loud noise would send me trembling like a lamb. She must’ve been more prepared for my response than I was. And more understanding of my reaction too. As if she’d done this many times before. She gingerly pulled out a brown file, and handed it to me, saying absolutely nothing. I’d opened it, and immediately shut it again.

It was a forged mental health assessment, with a referral letter to a psychiatric institution.

I looked on in horror back at her, my mouth agape, in absolute disbelief at what I was seeing. She continued to smile, a forced sympathy plastered on her face. I began to question why, and then fought to promise how I’d keep my mouth quiet, be silent forever. She shook her head.

“If you were in our position, you’d do the same. It’s imperative that we keep everything that’s been happening here under wraps.” She dropped her faux sympathies for a more direct approach, looking me sternly in the eyes. “We’ve been made aware of some posts online.”

I felt my hands sweat, but I’d always been good at lying. Growing up with strict parents helped with that. Don’t overreact, that gives it away. Don’t try to act too nonchalant. So instead, I just continued to be as bewildered by the situation as before, which wasn’t entire difficult, after being threatened with what basically was psychiatric imprisonment. She seemed to make the assumption that I was not the one posting online, as that smile glossed her lips once more.

“The hospital will implement more procedures to make sure you feel safe here. But we cannot allow you to leave work. We cannot discuss anything more with you on the matter, but we truly hope you give us your full cooperation. Are we in agreement on the matter?” She asked, a plump finger idly tapping on the file before me. A subtle reminder of what would happen if I withdrew compliance. So I complied.

That’s why I haven’t updated in so long. I didn’t want to stay there; to keep having to experience what those things were, especially after I’d seen the sheer power they were capable of. But, nonetheless, I couldn’t help but write some of my experiences, and my coworkers’, in my diary, which I kept tucked under my mattress in my room.

I think I should mention that I wasn’t the only one who faced a similar ordeal with (X) and those people. I’d whispered to (A) over coffee if she’d been visited, by ‘family.’ She seemed to gauge what I had meant, and nodded, slowly. She’d lost sleep over it too. (B) was the same, and had grown ever more gaunt each day that passed. (C) had left the hospital - apparently her mother had grown ill and needed care. I doubt the validity of that very much, because I haven’t been in contact with her since. Her number was out of service from the moment I’d heard the news.

I suppose morbid curiosity must be clawing at you all by now, so I’ll satisfy you. During the Covid Pandemic, things were pretty slow, concerning the ‘things.’ The emergency room during the day, and most evenings, were filled with those who desperately needed ventilators, and so we didn’t face anything but the horrors of real life illness, and the fear of catching the disease ourselves. Stress and anxiety were at the forefront of our mind, and exhaustion racked our bodies. But the most harrowing part of the whole pandemic, was that whenever ‘they’ came in, we couldn’t even be bothered to react. They’d only come in when the ER was empty, and we were waiting for new Covid patients to attend to.

To see them trying their hardest to disturb us was almost comical, after seeing so many of our s...

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